Watchers and other problems
by Ascari
Summary: MacLeod is kidnapped by a French Death-Cult – so it's now up to Methos, Amanda and Joe to rescue him while Dr. Zoll is only one step behind, suspecting Joe Dawson to know more about a particular Ancient Immortal than he is willing to admit.
1. Default Chapter

**Watchers and other problems**

_Standard disclaimer: the concept of Immortality and the Immortals belong to Rysher and are copyrighted by them. This story is for fun, not for profit._

_This story is written without a beta. I am not a native English, so there will be very likely many mistakes. _

_Hope you like… and I always appreciate reviews very much :-)_

_Notes: this is an AU; in my universe, Methos has never been discovered by the watchers._

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**Watcher HQ**

Alexandre Lafiette stopped in front of Dr.Zoll's office and extended his hand to knock, as he suddenly noticed his image reflected in the glass-door: a 50-year-old man with grey eyes looked back at him. A bit angry, he glared for a moment at the first grey strains in his else absolute black hair before he finally continued his movement and knocked.

"Come in," a surprisingly pleasant voice invited him in after a second.

When Lafiette opened the door, he found himself face to face with a very expensive furnished room that perfectly fitted his own taste. To his right and to his left he discovered very old and expensive-looking wooden cupboards – he guessed that they had to be at least over 200 years old – which were cram full with also very old looking books. But even more impressive was the enormous wooden desk that dominated the room. Lafiette needed some seconds before he finally discovered a small figure sitting behind the hundreds of books that were piled up on the desk.

"Take a sit," the figure - which turned out to be Dr.Zoll - asked him while she pointed with her small left hand to a delicious looking carved wooden chair. "You surly want to know why I asked you to come to this meeting," she then continued, examining him with intelligent-looking blue eyes while he was sitting down and trying to make himself comfortable – what happened to be not a very easy task, because the chair he now was sitting on, proofed to be much better looking than comfortable.

After moving back and for to find a relatively comfortable position, he examined the doctor a bit closer. Though the pale colour of her face indicated that she had spent significant more time with her books instead in the sun, she seemed to burst of energy, her eyes almost gleaming of… enthusiasm?

"You know that I'm the head researcher of the Methos chronicles," she began. "About two weeks ago a rumour came to my ears: the rumour that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod has a connection to Methos!" She paused, glancing for a moment at her desk were Lafiette now discovered a small book. Then she looked up again, her blue eyes once more starring into his, "MacLeod is in contact with the Old One - and that not only for several weeks… You surly understand that I was interested - very, very interested. I mean, MacLeod meets with the Ancient One and there is no single watcher who gets to know of that fact?" She shook her head. "I couldn't believe it; so I decided to do some research. I checked MacLeod's chronicle and the ones of the other Immortals involved with him." Her body relaxed a bit as she leaned back on her chair. "And what do you think I found?"

Knowing that she not really expected him to answer, Lafiette shifted his body once again on the chair, feeling already a slight pain in his back. Focussing his attention then back on the doctor again, he heard a slight trembling in her voice as she continued, "I found out that there was a dark-haired Immortal reported to have been around MacLeod - and that several times! … An Immortal who obviously has no watcher assigned to him. An Immortal who I believe is Methos!"

At the mention of this name, Lafiette saw for a short moment something flash in her eyes… something predatory.

"Take for example the Sean Burns incident some years ago – you surly have heard about it." Not waiting for him to answer, she continued, "Burns's watcher reported a dark-haired Immortal who tried to stop MacLeod from killing Burns. He didn't succeed; Burn was killed. But his watcher reported that the same dark-haired Immortal later faced MacLeod on holy ground. The watcher wasn't able to get closer, so we don't know what they talked about and by which name MacLeod called him; but he wrote down a description of the Immortal." She sighed. "It's not a very good one, I'm afraid." Looking down in her book, she then read out loud, "a white male with short dark hair, relatively young-looking."

Sighing once more, she then looked up again, meeting Lafiette's eyes. "And that wasn't the only sighting of that particular Immortal. I found another one in the report on the Immortal Ingrid Henning, a woman that tried to kill Hitler once, but failed. According to the reports on her, she wasn't able to forgive herself for it and so began to kill people she thought deserved to die." Zoll once again glanced in her book, searching for more information on the Immortal woman. Obviously having fount it, she then said, "MacLeod beheaded her… after that he was seen walking together with another Immortal, both deep in conversation. The watcher who reported the incident described the Immortal as young-looking and dark-haired - I'm absolutely convinced that the Immortal is the same one as the one described in the Burns report."

Then Zoll opened one of the many drawers of her desk and took out another book, which she placed in front of her. Curious as every good watcher should be, Lafiette bent a bit forward, trying to get a better look. It happened to be a chronicle - according to its enormous volume, it belonged to an older Immortal.

Noticing his attention, Dr.Zoll smiled slightly and handed him the book over, so he was able to see which Immortal it was about. He read the name Cassandra – a name every good watcher was familiar with… or should be, as he thought by himself.

"Melanie reported that Cassandra had contact with a dark-haired Immortal," Dr.Zoll explained as he handed her the volume back. We don't know about the kind of relationship between the two, but Melanie reported that she meant to have overheard Cassandra call the other man Methos. At that time I didn't believe her…" Dr. Zoll focussed her attention again on Lafiette, a slight smile around her mouth, "I mean, you know Melanie, she is not one of the best watchers… no wonder if you consider the many alcohol she almost daily consumes..." Dr. Zoll let the last words trail out, her right eyebrow raised in sarcasm.

Lafiette snorted in agreement. He too knew Melanie in person, and he too, had not the best opinion of her. To be honest, he still wasn't able to understand why she had gotten such an old Immortal as assignment… _had to be her special 'connection' with one of the older directors_, he thought mockingly while he once again in vain tried to find a more comfortable position on the chair.

"Thank God that not every watcher is like her," Zoll said, her dislike for the woman openly shown on her face. "Take for example the watcher of the de Valicourts: he also reported the dark-haired Immortal, noted that the Immortal fought Robert de Valicourt. Apparently it was a faked fight, because in the end the de Valicourts and the dark-haired Immortal behaved like best friends… they even invited him to their marriage." She shook her head in disbelieve.

"What does Dawson say to all of this?" Lafiette wanted to know. "A man of his reputation must surly have noticed the Immortal, too. Has he written down something in his reports?"

"Ha… Dawson!" Dr. Zoll spat the name with a twisted face as if she had just bitten on a lemon – a very sour lemon. "Joe Dawson is part of the whole problem," she then continued with an angry voice, unconsciously clenching her right hand around the small book on her table. "I believe – no - I'm absolutely convinced that Joe Dawson knows the Immortal very well. I can't prove it, but I think that the dark-haired Immortal was also involved in the Walker affaire, in which one of our younger watchers was kidnapped by her assignment… Dawson was involved in the whole thing, too. As far as I heard was he very interested in the girl – don't ask me about their connection; I don't know, and it's totally irrelevant. The important thing is that Walker was beheaded shortly after by an unknown Immortal who happened to pop out of the dark and than vanished from earth – and that without being seen by neither Dawson nor the other watcher. What a pure accident!" Zoll's voice dripped of sarcasm.

"No," she then went one, fixing Lafiette once again with her blue eyes. "I don't trust Dawson the slightest bit." Suddenly the anger vanished out of her eyes and was instead replaced by a predatory glimmer. "And that's the reason why I asked for you. You are one of the best watchers we have."

When Lafiette tried to contradict her (although he was totally agreeing with her), she immediately silenced him with a wave of her right hand. "No," she said, "no false modesty, Alexandre… I know it, and you know it! You are one of the best watchers we ever had… and this particular task requires the Best." A smile appeared on her face as she eyed Lafiette. "Namely you!"

She bent forward, her eyes never leaving Lafiette's while she said with an almost seductive whisper, "find Methos for me, find the Ancient one – and we both will gain glory in the watchers!" Her eyes glittered with enthusiasm as she continued, "we will have our pictures hung up in the 'Watcher Hale of Fame'… you will become the first active Methos watcher in centuries!"

Lafiette blinked; his heart was speeding up as he pictured her words in his mind. _Official Methos watcher!_ he enthusiastically thought, now no longer feeling his hurting back. _Official Methos watcher - yes, that was exactly the assignment that entitled him – him, and no one else! _Without him noticing it (also Zoll's sharp eyes didn't miss it), a dreamy smile began to spread on his face.

"Are you interested?" Zoll's voice finally interrupted his daydream.

He blinked a bit stunned, needing some seconds to find back to reality. "Count me in," he then agreed. "Where do we start?"

"MacLeod is in Europe at the moment; he is watched by Rene Van Dame… but I don't think that the Ancient stays with him at the moment. So the other logical start point is Joe Dawson." The smile on her face widened. "Lucky us that he doesn't know you in person."

Then the smile on her face vanished as her blue eyes once again met Lafiette's grey ones. "Watch Dawson and you will find Methos!"


	2. 2

_Thank you all for your kind reviews! Hope you all had a nice Christmas!_

_To annP : Is there any chance that you are the annP who wrote the fanfic ‚Paid in Full'?_

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**Seacouver Airport, a few weeks later**

Joe Dawson, who was sitting on a - according to his opinion - not very comfortable blue iron chair in the Seacover Airport hale, glanced for the at least 15th time within the last 30 minutes at the big airport clock, which hung not more than a few meters away from him – only to realize that barely about two minutes had passed since he had looked the last time.

With a slightly twisted face, he forced himself to relax back on his chair again, cursing himself for the 100th time for letting Methos have persuaded him to give the Ancient a ride home… Not that Methos hadn't enough money to pay for a taxi – but why should he, 'Taxi-Joe' was gratis and in addition to that much more comfortable.

Only two chairs away from Joe a child began to cry, getting louder and louder every second. Its mother, though sitting next to it, apparently was unable or unwilling to do something about it. Guessing that is was very likely the later, because the mother continued to read her Vogue-magazine instead of paying any attention to her child, Joe took a deep breath while he unconsciously clenched his right hand around his car-key, wishing desperately that Methos would arrive soon to deliver him out of this hell.

The only positive thing about him acting as a taxi-service was that he would be able to keep an eye on the Ancient, he then continued in his thoughts, trying at the same time to block the child's unnerving screams out of his mind. So he at least would be able to avoid situations like the one that had happened a few weeks ago, when he had been asked by an old watcher friend to tell the students at watcher academy some first-hand stories about MacLeod.

He had declined at first, but his friend finally had persuaded him – to be honest: the promised old Scottish whiskey had really been a very good argument. And everything had been fine at first; Joe almost had been able to enjoy the lesson, seeing the enthusiasm his stories brought to the faces of the students, until…

… until he suddenly had discovered a dark-haired figure sitting in the last row, a figure that held a bottle of beer in its hand while it grinned at him. Joe remembered that he had swallowed the wrong way at that particular sight, coughing for the whole following minute until he finally had been able to breath again. Then, after he had recovered enough, he had once again looked at the figure, only to see that the grin had widened and that the green-gold eyes were flashing of amusement.

And if that hadn't been enough, the Ancient then had begun to ask 'funny' questions about MacLeod, bringing all the other students to laugh while Joe's face had turned redder from second to second. At that particular moment, Joe really had wished nothing more in the world than to lay his hands around the Ancient's neck and throttle him – and that very slowly.

Joe's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud noise coming from his left side. When Joe turned his head, he discovered a group of about 15 young-looking men and women coming in his direction, all laughing and chatting together very loudly. Had to be a football-fan-club or something similar, he decided when he noticed their outfit: they all were clothed in black shirts, wore black caps and had long scarves with fringes around their necks.

Joe already was about to glance once more at the clock, when his eyes suddenly felt on a figure that was coming into his direction, according to its outfit looking as it would belong to the loud group - a figure that turned out to be Methos, Joe realized after a few stunned seconds in which he only could stare with wide eyes full of disbelieve at the Ancient.

_What to hell_! Joe thought totally aghast when he finally got a better look at the shirt the Ancient wore: printed on it was a familiar face: the face of Byron – exactly the same Lord Byron MacLeod had beheaded a while ago.

"Hi, Joe," then Methos's voice interrupted his thoughts, "good to see you… I only need to get my things and then we can leave."

Before Joe was able to return one single word, another voice – and a not very pleasant one –piped up, "don't you know that it's imprudent to leave without one last goodbye?" A second later, the voice-owner stepped next to Methos: it was a tall woman that Joe would have called quite good-looking hadn't she dyed her native blonde hair in a very dark black that absolutely not fitted her else pale-looking face. And the many black make-up around her eyes… Joe shuddered silently, _what to hell was this supposed to be? The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Dracula? _

He wasn't able to follow his thoughts, because the woman suddenly laughed and extended one of her white hands to him, saying, "it's a honour to meet you, Mr.Pierson." Her words were accompanied with a torrent of horrible smell – alcohol, as Joe (after all expert in this kind of things) realized immediately. Although normally used to this kind of smell, it made Joe step a few strides back while he tried to breath only through his mouth.

"Oh no! This is Joe Dawson… Joe," Methos nodded to Joe while he pointed at the woman, "Annette."

At these words, the woman began to giggle, though Joe not really was able to understand the reason for it; _had to be the influence of the alcohol_, Joe thought to himself.

"I'm soooooo sorry, Mr. Dawson," the woman then purred, once again filling Joe's nose with her disgusting alcohol-smell. "I thought you were Adam's father," she giggled again before she finally turned her head to Methos. "You have my number, call me next Saturday," she then whispered with an undertone in her voice that - according to the glance she simultaneously sent in the direction of Methos - was apparently meant to be sexy. Bending a bit forward, she then kissed Methos on his lips before she turned to vanish out of Joe's sight. (To Joe's great sorrow, the alcohol-smell didn't follow her good example but instead remained a bit longer).

A bit stunned by the whole scene (and still somewhat dazed by the alcohol-smell), Joe needed some seconds before he finally was able to ask, "what was that about? And what to hell are you wearing?" He pointed at Methos's outfit.

"Oh this," the Ancient grinned while he looked down at himself, "this is the official Byron-fan-club outfit. Do you like it?" Seeing Joe's aghast-looking face, he explained, "haven't I told you that I stayed the last few days at the Byron memorial concert in London?"

"Byron memorial concert?" Joe repeated, not quite believing what he heard.

"Yes, I had V.I.P. tickets, all inclusive." The grin on Methos's face widened. "Beer for free as much as you could drink… Absolutely great. I also met Annette there; you wouldn't believe it, but she was a very close friend of Byron… I'll tell you later all about it," he then said, "but first I have to take care of my baggage." He looked at Joe, "wait here, DAD," he emphasized the last word, his green-gold eyes glittered in amusement. " I'll be back in some minutes, so don't go away." With that he then turned and left in the direction of the baggage-counter, leaving a still stunned-looking Joe behind him.

**The same place, about 30 minutes before**

Alexandre Lafiette followed Joe Dawson to the Seacover Airport were he hid behind a big Coca-Cola advertisement-sign, never letting Joe Dawson out of sight. The last few weeks had been boring beyond imaging; Joe Dawson had turned out to be one of the most boring assignments he ever have had to watch: his daily routine was to get up very late (and that was the only pleasant thing he could say about Dawson), before he went to his bar were he stayed until night before he finally headed home again. And that daily!

But today was THE DAY - Lafiette felt it in his bones: today he would meet the Ancient... why else should Joe Dawson wait at the airport? There was no one else Dawson could possibly wait for: MacLeod was in Europe, and there was no other watcher expected to arrive today – Lafiette had checked that by calling watcher HQ a few minutes ago. _And other friends? No_, Lafiette shook his head, not wanting to occupy himself any longer with this unwelcome thought. _No, Dawson was waiting for the Old One, and no one else. _

A smile appeared on his face as he imagined the Ancient: there was absolutely no doubt that he immediately would discover the Old One by his eternal aura. Methos would be different from all the other Immortals... maybe like another Darius - but of course even greater. And HE would be the one who would have discovered him! HIS name would be associated with the Oldest of all Immortals.

The smile on his face widened. The directors would personally congratulate him to this discovery – the discovery in centuries. _No_, he shook his head, _not in centuries_, _the discovery of the Millennium!_ … His picture would be hung up in the 'Watcher Hale of Fame' were all upcoming students of the watcher academy would admire it. The important question was now what to wear on this important occasion: maybe he should buy himself a new silken suit? He passed with his right hand through his hair as he noticed his image reflected in the glass of the advertisement-sign...And maybe he also should have his hair dyed black again to look a bit younger?_ Yes_, he decided, _this is definitely a good idea_; _I must remember to set a date with my hairdresser._

Deeply in thoughts about how the watchers would honour him for his discovery, he already had been waiting there for about 30 minutes when suddenly his thoughts were disturbed by a loud noise coming from a group of 10 dark-clothed people, who walked into the direction of Joe Dawson. Slightly angry about this sudden distraction, Lafiette bent a bit forward to get a better look at Dawson… and almost let out a cry when he discovered a dark-haired young man approaching the other watcher.

_Methos!_ he thought in excitement while he bit himself subconsciously on his lip, starring at the man like a rabbit into the eyes of a snake. Tension made his breathing difficult. Not able to bear the curiosity any longer, he decided to get a bit closer. Maybe he even would be able to hear the Ancient's voice, he thought enthusiastically as he crept nearer until he was able to hide behind a sweat-vending machine only few meters away from Dawson and the Immortal. There he remained, his right hand shaking slightly as he tried to get a better look at the man's face.

The moment the man turned his head, Lafiette's heart almost stopped... but not out of excitement – but of great disappointment instead. All tension immediately left his body; he sacked on one of the free iron chairs next to the sweat-vending machine, no longer able to stand on his now very weak feet. _No_, he thought totally stunned. In front of him, talking with Dawson and a strange looking female stood... not Methos, but ADAM PIERSON!

He reminded on the chair, wiping with his right hand over his brow while his eyes were fixed on the young man in front of him. He had never liked the young watcher, but at this particular moment he almost hated him. Oh yes, he remembered the young man: they had met only one time, but it had been enough to built himself an opinion about the young watcher.

Several years ago, Lafiette had met Pierson at a watcher Christmas party. Lafiette had exchanged old stories with Felix Rheinhard, an old watcher friend he knew since graduation at watcher academy about 30 years ago, about their current assignments. Sometimes during the conversation, the topic had turned to Methos, about how the Oldest of all Immortals would very likely be. Lafiette was about to describe his opinion to his friend when he had accidentally looked in Pierson's direction, who stood only few meters away from them. There had been a very amused glimmer in the young watcher's eyes – apparently he had thought to know more about Immortals than the rest of the watchers... but this was a typical behaviour for bookworms like Pierson: never really having watched an Immortal by themselves, but thinking they knew all about them – absolutely typical!

Lafiette snorted in slight anger as he watched Pierson turn and then walk away, letting a stunned Joe Dawson behind him. _Maybe_ _it is after all a good thing that Joe Dawson owns a bar, _Lafiette then thought_, so I at least can drown this disappointment in alcohol_ – _in very much alcohol!_

When Pierson finally met Dawson again, Lafiette found himself recovered enough to follow them back to Dawson's bar, although the unpleasant feeling of disappointment was still burning very deeply in his heart.


	3. 3

_To annP: how funny that you are that annP - I really love that particular fic of yours (read it more than 4 times at least)_ _:-)_

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**Two days later, Methos's flat**

A loud ring sounded through the room that was already illuminated by the yellow rays of the morning-sun. Another ring wakened the Ancient, who was curled under the warm blanket in his bed, brought him to open his eyes. Still half asleep, he glanced at his radio-clock that only stood a few meters away from him: 7 o'clock.

_Damn,_ he thought a bit angry as his mind finally realized the early time, _what idiot is up at this unholy time! _Hoping that whoever disturbed his sleep might go away when ignored long enough, Methos grabbed his pillow and pressed it on his head, shutting his eyes while he silently cursed the other for disturbing his sleep.

Another ring echoed through the room - this time it was longer and also accompanied by an impatient voice. "ADAM!!! Open the damn door! I know that you are in there! It's about Mac; he has vanished!"

_Joe_, Methos thought but remained in his bed, unimpressed by Joe's words. _Typical!_ _Damn boy scout_… _Not my problem when he again has gotten himself into big problems_. _I'm not his nanny_… _I'm not going to lose my head because Mac wants to play hero to whoever accidentally crosses his path_. Shutting his ears with his hands, he tried to ignore Joe. _Not my fault if he gets himself killed this time_, he tried to reassure himself.

M.E.T.H.O.S!!!!

The loud scream of his name immediately brought the Ancient out of his bed and to the door. "Damn, Joe," he snorted angrily as he flung the door open, letting the old watcher into the room. "I don't think they heard you three blocks away. Maybe you can shout my name once again a bit louder, so nobody will miss it this time," he then said mockingly before he eyed the other a bit closer: Joe's face was pale and full of concern; his hairs stood in all direction from his head; and Methos noticed that Joe's eyes not only looked red and a bit tired, but also seemed a bit swollen – apparently his night hadn't been very long.

"So, what's up with Mac, Joe?" Methos finally asked as he grabbed one of the shirts that was lying on the floor and put it over his head.

"Mac is missing," Joe said, his voice a bit rougher than normal. "I got a call from HQ this morning; his watcher lost him, and he can't find him anywhere… They already checked if there was a quickening, but no single one is reported in that area. They al…"

"He is not dead," Methos interrupted Joe.

"How could you te…"

"Trust me with this Joe, he is alive. I would know if he lost his head."

"Bordeaux?" Joe asked, relief now appearing on his face as he let himself sack on a chair.

"Yep. I can feel him since then… He is still alive, Joe." Methos sighed while he, too, sat down on a chair. "So, why don't you explain the whole story from the beginning to me? As far as I know, Mac was in Strasbourg, France."

"Yes," Joe confirmed, "he was personally invited by Jacques Galliome, a French artist who owns an art gallery there. He planned to make an exhibition showing works of French artists; he asked Mac if he couldn't lend him some sculptures of Tessa Noel. As far as I was told it has opened 4 days ago, one day before Mac has gone missing."

"So Mac has attended the exhibition?"

"Yes," Joe nodded, "according to his watcher, he has. The watcher says that he saw Mac in conversion with Louis de Monet, a French multi-millionaire who is also one of the sponsors of the exhibition. He apparently was interested in one of Tessa's works."

"And you think there is a connection?" Methos asked, not very convinced about it.

"I know that there's a connection. Mac's watcher observed Mac being given a ride in a big Mercedes limousine the next night. He was able to follow it… and where do you think it headed?"

"To Louis de Monet's estate, " Methos guessed.

"Exactly! And the watcher never saw Mac leave it again."

"So, what's the problem, Joe? Call the police, they can search the house through."

Joe shook his head. "It's not that easy, Methos. Louis de Monet is a very healthy and very powerful man. He is not only the owner of a very expensive nightclub but also owns a big factory that gives work to thousands of people there – he is a very influential man. Police isn't going to invade his house and search for a vanished foreigner because you say it. And even if they do, I'm not sure if Mac is still there; de Monet is not stupid, he surly has Mac being brought somewhere else."

"Ok," Methos sighed, "but why should he be interested in Mac? Is he an Immortal?"

"No, as far as we know is he a mortal." Joe, too, sighed, leaning back on his chair. "I don't know why de Monet is interested in Mac… I only know that we have to do something, Methos."

"We?" Methos echoed, while he, too, leaned back on his chair, his face blank now.

"Yes, WE" Joe confirmed, "YOU and ME."

"Oh, I'm not a boy scout… I don't do the hero-thing, Joe. And besides, I have other important things to do."

Joe stared in disbelieve at the Ancient in front of him. "Mac is your friend, Methos." Seeing that his words had no affection on the Ancient because Methos's face remained blank, Joe continued, "he would do the same for you."

"I'm not MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod… Ask Amanda, she is surly willing to help." With that, Methos got up and went to the refrigerator, helping himself to a beer.

"Damn, Methos!" Joe angrily snarled while he got up and then stepped directly in front of the Immortal, so that they now were face-to-face. "You are his friend. And you owe him, you know that you owe him." Joe starred into Methos's eyes until the Ancient finally looked away, sighing in defeat.

"Ok, Joe," he then finally said, a slight undertone of anger in his voice. "And what do you think I can do?… Shall I walk into de Monet's house and search for MacLeod there? I'm sure that de Monet doesn't mind," he added mockingly before he took a sip of his beer.

"You are the bloody strategist, Methos. You made plans for Kronos for about – what? – 1000 years? So rack your brains, it can't be that difficult!" Joe then took something out of his coat; Methos realized after a few seconds that he held two fly-tickets in his hand. " Our flight to Strasbourg goes in 3 hours; I'll be waiting for you at the airport. Before that, I have to get more information on de Monet. I suggest you pack you things, Methos… And it wouldn't harm to pack also a suit or two, you'll surly need them." Not waiting for the Ancient to complain, Joe hurried to the door, concern still burning in him.

After Joe had left, Methos sighed deeply before he took a bag from under his bed and opened it. _Pack a suit_, he repeated Joe's words in his mind. _Mac is going to pay for this_, he whispered. Suddenly a slight sardonic smile appeared on his face, _oh, yes, Mac definitely will pay_.

**4 hours later, on flight 223 to Strasbourg**

About 4 hours later, Joe sat in the airplane to Strasbourg on the seat next to Methos, reading the report on de Monet the watchers had provided him with. And the Ancient, too, had found out several interesting information about de Monet, Joe remembered as he looked at the sleeping form of Methos, who was curled on the seat next to him. Joe still was surprised how the Ancient had achieved the information on de Monet, though he guessed that money had to do a lot with it. _Yeah, with money you can buy everything_, he thought before he then refocused his attention to the report.

According to it, de Monet was 40 years old; was born and had lived his whole life in Strasbourg. There were no living relatives reported, no wife, and no children. The man was described as very intelligent and very sophisticated; allegedly he was speaking more than 10 languages. And he was also said to have a very delicious – and very expensive - taste.

Joe turned the page over, noticing now the almost inaudible snorting that was coming from Methos. He smiled and glanced at the Ancient. _He looks so young, almost like a kid_, Joe thought, the smile on his face widened as he noticed the bottle of beer the Ancient was holding in his right hand. Not wanting it to fell down, Joe took it away from Methos before he then once again focussed his attention back on the report.

Suddenly he stopped. Then he read the paragraph once again. According to it, de Monet was a collector, a collector of paintings, sculptures and other art. That alone would have been nothing extraordinary, but the works had one thing in common: they all dealt with Death. Joe hesitated for a moment and glanced again at Methos. _Death_, he thought, _but what does de Monet want from Mac_? _Does he know that Mac is Immortal_? _But what could he then possibly want from Mac? _

Not seeing the dark-haired man who watched him from the seat two rows behind, Joe sighed in frustration as he continued to read.

**Onlytworows behind**

Only two rows behind Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson, but on the other side of the hallway, sat Alexandre Lafiette, and watched the two unobtrusively. Holding a sport magazine in front of him and pretending to read it, Lafiette never let the two out of sight, although it proved to be more difficult than he had expected, because his seat-neighbour, a blonde over-weighted man of about 40 apparently felt boring, and so had decided to start a conversion with Lafiette.

"So, you are interested in sports," he said to Lafiette, pointing at the magazine, "I tried it, too, to lose some weight," he then added while he looked at his belly, "but I was not very successful… So what do you do?"

"I don't do sports," Lafiette answered very short-tied, not wanting to continue with the conversation. Ignoring the man next to him, he once again looked to Dawson and Pierson. He watched Dawson read in a report while Pierson slept next to him. _What to hell were the two up to_? he asked himself at least the 1000th time.

He remembered how he had followed Dawson to Pierson's house, what a stupid accident that there hadn't been a parking space, so he had been forced to wait in his car for Dawson to leave the house and then follow him back to watcher HO. He would give his right hand to know what the two of them had talked about in Pierson's flat. But one the other hand he probably already knew: could only have been about MacLeod's disappearance – Lafiette had been informed by Dr.Zoll about this latest incident last night. She hadn't been able to tell him much about it, but apparently MacLeod had gone missing in Strasbourg. And now Pierson and Dawson were flying exactly to that particular city…

_Probably a resurrection-team for MacLeod… And what a great one, _he thought a bit amused_, a handicapped and a bookworm - if that isn't going to make it…_

"Handball is said to be the best sport if you want to lose weight," the man next to him interrupted his thoughts, obviously not having understood the hint that Lafiette was not interested in a conversation.

Lafiette rolled his eyes and sighed. _This flight is going to be long – very, very long! _he thought as he once again pretended to read his magazine, still ignoring his neighbour very hard.


	4. 4

_Thank you two for reviewing. Hope you all will have a happy new year!_

* * *

**Strasbourg, a middle-class hotel**

"So, you have a plan?" Joe asked, while he carefully sat down on one of the comfortable-looking chairs that were grouped around a big wooden table. On it stood a tablet with typical French breakfast. After helping himself to one of the croissants and a cub of coffee, Joe eyed the Ancient who was spread on the sofa next to him a bit closer. His feet were resting in typical Methos-like-manner on the small, narrow table in front of him, in his right hand the unavoidable beer. All in all Methos made a very relaxed impression.

"Yep," Methos responded.

When Joe realized that the Ancient wasn't going to say anything more to the topic without further questioning, he finally asked, "and?"

"I'm going to meet de Monet." Methos took another sip of his beer.

"And?" Joe repeated, a slight undertone of impatience now obvious in his voice.

"And you were right: I'm going to need my suit."

"Damn, Methos! It would be nice if I hadn't to drag all information out of you," Joe complained.

Methos sat up and placed the beer on the table in front of him. "I'm going to attend the exhibition in two days." A smile appeared on his face as he continued, "my name is Adrian Danton. I'm a doctorate who writes a thesis about 'French artists throughout the ages'. That provides me with a good reason to be interested in the exhibition… And, of course, I'm going to meet de Monet there."

Joe spread some jam on his croissant and then took a bite. After he had swallowed it, he once again eyed the Ancient. "And what makes you so sure that de Monet will be there?" He watched the smile on Methos's face turn into a grin.

"Oh, trust me, Joe, de Monet will definitely be there… A quite wealthy, and I'm afraid also unknown art-collector, has lent the gallery a painting by Albrecht Kauw, a relatively well-known French painter who also happened to be a real child of Strasbourg. He is famous for his paintings showing nature. But he also painted – and that is quite of interest for us – the picture "The dance of Death" in 1649. I would be surprised if de Monet hadn't heard of it… I'm convinced that he will find the lent picture quite fascinating because it shows Death riding on a white horse, surrounded by red roses."

"You are the unknown collector," Joe guessed while he once again refilled his cup with the still slightly smoking coffee. Immediately a very mouth-watering aroma began to fill the room.

"Yes, you're right… I knew Albrecht Kauw in person. We both met in 1649 in Bern where he painted the picture 'Dance of Death'. He later also created the second picture which I lent the gallery, giving it to me as a gift for having helped him to become acquainted with his later wife." The grin on his face widened. "Of course he never knew that…" Seeing the sudden interest in Joe's eyes, Methos quickly interrupted himself and instead grabbed his beer, taking a deep sip.

"However," he then continued, "the picture will be presented to the public at the exhibition in two days. De Monet will be there, of that I'm sure." He hesitated for a second before he once again addresses the old watcher, "and Joe, it would be better if we weren't seen together; we don't want to arise any unnecessary suspicion. I mean, if de Monet has any information on Mac - and it wouldn't surprise me much because the man is not an idiot - he probably, too, knows about you. But I really can't imagine that he has anything on me… even less likely because I'm no longer Adam Pierson now.

**2 days later, at the exhibition**

Two days later, Methos stood, clothed in a dark silken suit, in front of Albrecht Kauw's picture that was hung, hidden behind safety glass, one a prominent place in the centre of the art-gallery. It was late in time, almost midnight, so most of the guest already had left the exhibition. Methos took another sip of the champagne he hold in his right hand, regretting for the at least 100th time that it was not beer instead. _Oh yes, MacLeod was definitely going to pay for all of this… and that for a very long time._

"Monsieur Danton," he then suddenly heard the slightly hoarse-sounding voice of Jacques Galliome, the owner of the art-gallery say behind him. As he turned, he found himself face-to-face with the longhaired artist and a good-looking, about 40-year-old man with short blonde hair. The man's features were very fine-shaped and clearly reflected his intelligence. He was a relatively tall man whose very expensive-looking black silken suit underlined his well-built body. But the most remarkable on him were his eyes: they were of such a deep blue that Methos for a second almost meant to look into the depths of a sea.

"Monsieur de Monet," Galliome nodded to the other, "may I introduce you to Monsieur Danton… he is the young doctorate I told you about." He then looked to Methos, "Monsieur Danton, this is Monsieur de Monet, an art collector and very generous sponsor of our exhibition." He smiled.

Methos watched de Monet examine him for a moment, obviously assessing him very closely. Then the other finally smiled and offered his left, very cared-for-looking hand to Methos. "Bonjour Monsieur Danton, I'm honoured to meet you," Methos heard de Monet's cultivated voice greet him.

The moment they shook hands, Methos noticed a small gold ring sticking on the other man's middle finger. When he looked a bit closer, he saw that it was shaped like a scull.

"I see that you are interested in my ring," de Monet said with the hint of a smile playing around his mouth, his obviously sharp eyes having detected Methos's look. He raised his hand and eyed the ring for a moment, saying, "I've had it made for me by a very talented young designer." He smiled. "You must know I've a weakness for Death since my youth." For a short moment something flickered in his eyes, something Methos wasn't able to interpret.

Then the moment was gone, and the smile appeared once again on de Monet's face, making it look younger than the 40 years, it actually was. De Monet then turned to the painting. "That's also why I'm totally overwhelmed by this… You must know that I'm a big admirer of Albrecht Kauw's other painting "Dance of Death". I was really surprised to hear that another similar work of his had been lent to the gallery – a painting I haven't been aware actually exists. To be honest: at the beginning I thought it be a fake; but experts think that it is original." He looked to Galliome. "What a pity that we don't know the identity of the owner; I really would like to buy this picture from him."

"Yes, what a pity," Galliome confirmed him. "An intermediary from America sent us the picture. He also let us known that his client wanted to lent us the picture for the exhibition, but else wanted to remain unknown." He shrugged, "we are not able to tell who he is…. If you ask me, he…"

Galliome was not able to finish his sentence because he was interrupted by de Monet. "Jacques, bon ami, we really don't want to bore you with a conversation about Albrecht Kauw; so why don't you go, and look after your other guests?" Although his words were spoken in a very friendly way, Methos clearly understood them for the order they were. And Galliome obviously did, too. He smiled, though it looked at the first moment a bit forced to Methos, and then excused himself, saying, "Bien entendu! Of course, you are right Louis. I'm afraid that you have to excuse me… Monsieur Danton." He nodded in Methos direction; then he turned and left with quick steps.

"So, Monsieur Danton, Galliome told me that you are writing a thesis on French artist? Are you going to write something on Kauw, too?" de Monet then again addressed Methos.

"Oh, yes," Methos smiled, too, when he faced the other, "I plan to dedicate him a whole chapter." He stepped closer to the painting until he stood quite in front of it, then turned and once again faced de Monet. "I find his interpretation of Death quite fascinating. His Death is totally different to the other Death-portrayals I've seen so far. It looks more…," Methos hesitated and looked into the eyes of de Monet. He saw fascination gleam there; obviously, he had de Monet's undivided attention now. "…human," he then simply finished, once again turning to the picture.

"Yes," de Monet whispered behind him, the fascination he was feeling clearly obvious in his voice. He stepped closer to Methos until they almost touched each other, and then remained there, starring for a moment at the picture before he finally inhaled very deeply. "Why don't we sit on the couch," he then pointed to the small black leather couch that stood only a few steps away from them, "and talk about Kauw. Apparently you are as interested in his work as I am." He turned his head, searching for one of the hostesses. After he had showed her with a nod to bring them each a new glass of champagne, he followed Methos to the couch.

**Only a few meters away from them**

Alexandre Lafiette stood only a few meters away from Person and the other man, hidden behind one of the big columns that stabilized the enormous hale of the gallery. Pretending to be lost in thoughts while admiring the sculpture in front of him, he managed to send frequent, quick glances to Pierson and his conversion-partner.

A slight proud smile spread on Lafiette's face as he remembered how he had gotten himself a suit and an invitation to the exhibition… and that within the shortness of time! Other watchers very likely wouldn't have made it, but for a watcher of his quality it had – of course – not been a big problem. If the bookworm was able to get himself invited, than he was able to do the same, too. His smile deepened as he once again glanced at Pierson: even if the bookworm had discovered him on the plane - what of course was not very likely - he never would be able to recognize Lafiette now, because he not only wore a suit, but also had equipped himself with a blonde wig and a pair of eyeglasses that made him look several years older.

A slight frown replaced the smile as he remembered that he was not able to observe Dawson at the moment; though he was relatively sure that the watcher was lying in his hotel bed, hopefully deeply asleep by now. He knew that Dr.Zoll would send him another watcher to observe both Pierson and Dawson if he asked her for one… the problem was only that he then also would have to share the honour of finding the Ancient with the other, and that wasn't something he was very eager to: Methos belonged to him, and only to him!

Which brought him back to his greatest problem: he had been observing Dawson – and now also Pierson – for several weeks now, and there still hadn't been the slightest evidence of the Ancient. Maybe it was really only rumour that MacLeod was in contact with him. Lafiette immediately shook his head, forcing the unwelcome thought away. He only had to look a bit closer, somewhere in this whole affair had to be a trace to the Ancient, he reassured himself.

Lafiette sighed and then focussed his attention back on the pair in front of him. "Why don't we sit on the couch," he heard the blonde man say while he simultaneously pointed to the small black sofa that stood next to them, "and talk about Kauw. Apparently you are as interested in his work as I am." The words brought Lafiette to sigh even deeper. _How very interesting… I always wanted to hear something about Kauw, _he thought mockingly to himself while his left hand clenched around his half-empty glass. _At least the champagne is excellent, _he then tried to find something positive in the situation. _And if I drink much more of it, I even may find the art-conversation interesting_…_ or maybe not_.

**Next day, 10 o'clock**

"So you are saying that you actually like de Monet." Joe, sitting on the sofa in Methos's hotel-room, asked the Immortal in slight disbelieve.

Methos stopped for a moment the search for his shirt and looked at the watcher. "I only said that I found him interesting. He is a very cultivated man," he then answered while he stroke with his right hand over his hair, which was still sticking in all directions away from his head because he had climbed out of bed just recently.

"Damn, he has kidnapped Mac, Methos! Who to hell knows what he has done to him."

Sighing inwardly, Methos raised several old clothes from one of the chairs, hoping that somewhere under them, he would find his shirt – but his hope was in vain. He put the clothes back before he then once again eyed the watcher instead. "As I said before: I found him interesting; that doesn't mean that I like him, ok?"

"Hmm," he heard Joe snort.

"By the way, Joe, do you know where Amanda is at the moment?"

This caught Joe's attention. "What do you want from the little thief?"

Methos's only answer was a smile.

After a few seconds of eyeing the Ancient, Joe's eyes narrowed, apparently having come to the right conclusion. "No," he finally shook his head, "you don't want her to pinch something for you." Joe stared at the Ancient who continued to smile. "Methos!"

"Joe, if we want to rescue Mac, we have to grasp to drastic measures… We need to get into de Monet's house to search for evidence on Mac's whereabouts. The problem is that de Monet will not let us in so easily. According to the information my informant sent to me, his house is secured by not only dogs, but also a ultra-new alarm system that is only to be switched off from the inside of the house. I want Amanda to brake in and search for any information on MacLeod while I, after disabling the system, distract de Monet. The only problem is that we have to give de Monet a good reason to let me in. You know from the watcher report that he normally doesn't have any visitors invited into his house.

A frown appeared on Joe's face as he over-thought Methos's words. "So what do you suggest?"

The smile on Methos's face deepened. "Oh, you will see in time, Joe. Now better call Amanda and tell her to get her little arse here - and that as fast as possible."

* * *

_Note: The French painter Albrecht Kauw really existed; he really is famous for his pictures showing nature, but he also painted 'Dance of Death', though he copied it from another painter._


	5. 5

_Once again much thanks for the reviews (I love reviews)!_

* * *

**Lyon, a hotel room, 2 days later**

„Got it," Amanda heard Methos's voice come out of the other room of the hotel-suite, both had rent using one of Methos's many aliases after he had given her a ride from Lyon airport. Taking her still hot cup of tea with her, she went barefoot to the Ancient who sat in front of his laptop and stared with already slightly reddish-looking eyes on the screen. When she took a look over his left shoulder, she saw a very detailed construction plan of a building being showed there. A slight smile began to spread around her mouth as her eyes caught the symbol that was shown on the right edge of the screen: it was the watcher-symbol.

"You are full of surprises, Methos," Amanda smiled while she looked at the Ancient, "I didn't know that you're such a talented hacker."

"Oh," Methos returned the smile, "it wasn't very difficult. A bit of hacking here, and a bit of hacking there…" The smile on his face was replaced by an amused grin, "and of course the knowledge of Dr. Zoll's code also didn't hurt."

This caught Amanda's surprise. "You know Dr. Zoll's code?"

"Yep." Methos sat back on his chair. "Every child could have guessed it correctly." Seeing that Amanda obviously couldn't follow his words, he finally explained, "word with six letters; starts with a M and ends with a s."

"Oh," was Amanda's only comment as she finally understood.

"Exactly…I always considered the good doctor to be a very imaginative woman," Methos said with a slight sarcastic undertone in his voice. "However," he then continued, once again focussing his attention on the screen. "I see only one way to get into the museum, and that's the way through the glass-roof."

Amanda bit on her lip while she, too, eyed the plan of the watcher HQ. After starring for about two minutes at it without saying a single word, she finally titled her head a bit to the right side, saying, "the windows and doors are secured by magnetic locks, and there're also laser beams installed in front of them… So I agree with you: the roof seems to be the best way to get in. " She continued to stare at the plan. Then, after a few seconds, she finally pointed to one of the yellow-marked patches. "I only see one problem: how to get rid off the cameras?"

"Oh, the cameras aren't a real problem," Methos answered while he began to massage his hurting neck with his right hand. " According to what I found out, are the cameras only there to record. There won't be any security-guards sitting in front of the screens, watching the gallery in real time – doesn't surprise me much because the watchers surly don't suspect someone to break into their little private artefact-gallery… I mean, who else besides the watchers actually knows about it."

"You're probably right," Amanda agreed while she went to the small blue sofa that only stood a few meters away, and sat down on it, making herself comfortable. "Are you sure that the mask will get the bastard's attention?" she then wanted to know, on her face now a slight trace of anger as she remembered what Methos had told her about de Monet.

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure that he'll swallow the bait. I mean, we are talking about an over 2000 years old Death-mask; if that doesn't get de Monet's attention, then I really don't know what else will."

Amanda examined him for a few seconds very closely before she finally guessed," the mask belonged to you, didn't it?" For a short moment she could see something flicker in his eyes, something she was not able to interpret; but then the moment was gone.

Methos nodded. "Yes, it belonged to me… long, long ago. Silas apparently kept it – don't ask me how he managed to conserve it; but apparently he did. After he died…," at these words Methos hesitated; both Immortals stared for a second into each other's eyes. Something passed between them, something only people could understand that had lived as long as the two. Finally he continued, "the watchers took his belongings and brought the mask to Lyon, where they obviously put it into the gallery."

"From which we'll borrow it."

"Yes." A smile appeared on Methos's lips. "From which we'll borrow it."

**Night, Lyon watcher HQ**

Methos and Amanda, both dressed in black overalls, their faces covered behind black ski masks, their hands sticking in black gloves, hid behind the black Mercedes-Van they had parked behind watcher HQ. In front of them was the about three meters high stonewall that fenced the HQ grounds around.

Methos glanced at his clock: it showed 00.10. Late enough for the security-guy to already have patrolled this particular part of the grounds. "Ok," he whispered to Amanda, wondering for a second where in her very tight outfit she probably could have hidden her tools. Then, not wasting anymore time to the thought, he helped her to place a small ladder in front of the wall, whispering, "Ladies first."

"Why not age before beauty," she whispered back, her right eyebrow slightly raised.

"Amanda," he grumbled.

Seeing the impatience in his eyes, she finally gave in. "Ok, ok." Not hesitating any longer, she began to climb on the wall, vanishing silently into the darkness as she arrived at the other side. There she stood for a moment, her senses almost bursting of tension as she tried to hear something… but there was only silence greeting her. In front of her she now could see the 4-stay-high watcher HQ, and to its left their target: the much smaller art-gallery. "The burst is clear," she whispered towards the wall.

A few seconds later, the dark contour of Methos appeared on its top before he landed - together with the ladder - almost soundlessly next to her. After having hidden it in the darkness, both crept closer to the gallery until they stood right in front of it. Then Methos put the small black rucksack he was carrying on his back down, and took out a small black-coloured crossbow and an arrow that was connected to an although very thin-looking, but actually load-bearing rope. The arrow, equipped with several barbs so it would better stick to wood, consisted of a special titanium-iron-aluminium-alloy, a material that was able to bear a relatively high load. Methos loaded the weapon with it, and then pointed it at one of the wooden girders that helped to stabilize the glass-roof of the gallery.

A second later, Amanda heard the quiet sound of the fired arrow; then a slight 'plonk' as it bored itself into the wood. She once again hesitated, listening with all her senses into the darkness again, waiting nervously for the slightest trace that they had been discovered… but the only sound she could hear was still the pounding of her own heart. She let go of the breath she subconsciously had held, and looked at Methos who was checking the stability of the rope by pulling it. Though they were standing almost in the dark, Amanda could see the satisfied expression on his now by the moonlight illuminated face.

"Good," she then heard him whisper, "You are lighter than I; you go first… I'll lift you the first meters."

About fife minutes later, both sat on the wooden girders of the glass-roof. Methos handed Amanda a hand-picker that was equipped with a diamond-nib and a silicon vacuum cup. He watched her put it onto the glass, and then press it very cautiously onto it until she finally was sure that the vacuum cup would stick. Then she began to cut a circle into the glass, big enough for a single person to climb through. Methos noticed a small sweat-drop appear on Amanda's lip as the diamond-nib finally finished the circle. She hesitated for a second, her eyes making contact with his.

"Ready?" she whispered.

When he nodded, she pushed the cutter very carefully… An almost inaudible noise sounded through the darkness as she then raised it again, adhering to it now the cutout glass-circle.

Both waited for any alarms to go off, their hearts bumping very quickly, almost painfully now. Methos felt cold sweat on his back while he stared into the darkness… but the seconds passed without hearing any guards or loud sirens. After a few more seconds, Methos allowed himself to relax again and looked at Amanda.

"Give' me the belt," he heard her whisper, a slight tension vibrating in her voice.

After having done what she had asked for, he also produced a small pulley out of the rucksack and fixed it firmly to one of the wooden girders. Then he took the rope that was already connected to Amanda's belt, and fastened it to the pulley.

"Ok," he heard Amanda whisper. "I'm ready; you can let me down now."

About five minutes later, Amanda, a flashlight in her mouth, landed on the soft carpet that covered the gallery-floor. After she had freed herself from the belt, she gave Methos a sign to pull it up again. Not paying any more attention to it any longer, she then began to look around.

In the beam of her flashlight, she was able to see several showcases full of artefacts that looked – as she got a bit closer – Egyptian to her. Not longer interested in it, she began to creep through the room, passing several old-looking swords that were hung up on the wall to her left while she searched for the Death-mask Methos had described to her. What turned out to be not a very easy task, because the room was large and also totally staffed with artefacts coming from all centuries and cultures. It took her several minutes of very close search before she finally discovered it, lying on blue velvet in one of the showcases at the other end of the gallery. "Ahh," she whispered satisfied, "there you hide."

When she bent a bit forward to examine the showcase a bit closer, she found not only a keyhole, but also a digital display. "Hmm," she muttered to herself while she massaged her tensed neck subconsciously with her right hand, considering the best way to approach it.

After she had arranged the flashlight in a way on the floor that its beam was illuminating the showcase, she pulled a small LCD decoder out off her overall, and hooked it onto the display. While she waited, she could see digits flash on the decoder as it tried possible codes. Only three minutes later, the decoder suddenly stopped: a 9-digits-long number had appeared on it.

Satisfied, Amanda put it away before she instead produced a large ring with keys of different shapes and sizes out of her outfit. She flipped through them until she finally found a master key that looked as it would fit into the lock. Before she inserted it, she took a very deep breath. Cold sweat ran down her back as she lifted her other hand to push the code into the display.

_One… two… three_. She turned the key… an almost inaudible click sounded through the room. Her body was covered now in cold sweat, her throat almost painfully dry as she waited for any alarms that may have been triggered – but the only sound she heard was her own quick heartbeat. She let out the breath she subconsciously had held, and sighed in relief.

Then Amanda lifted the lid of the case, and carefully took the mask out. "Good," she whispered, a very satisfied smile playing now around her mouth while she pulled a black plastic bag out of her outfit, and put the mask into it. After also taking the flashlight into her right hand, she hurried back to Methos.

She almost had reached him when her eyes suddenly felt on a showcase; in it several beautiful jewels that were gleaming almost magically in the light. A smile passed over her face as she admired it, licking subconsciously with her tongue over her lip. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend," she whispered, feeling a tingle spread in her stomach.

She was just about to pull the decoder once again out of her outfit and connect it to the display, as she suddenly heard Methos's voice very urgently whisper from above," damn, Amanda, we're not here to steal some diamonds. Get your little ass up here – and that quickly! The guard can show up every minute."

Amanda glanced at her clock: nine minutes before the security-guard would make his routine-round through the gallery – more than enough time to get the jewels. "Only a minute," she whispered back while she hooked the LCD onto the display.

"Amannnndaaaa!" she then heard his hiss, which she chose to ignore while she stared with eyes wide of excitement at the decoder. The first digit appeared on it, then the second, followed a second later by the third…

Suddenly a loud noise came from outside the door: louder getting footsteps. Her heart almost stopped as she became aware that someone was going to open the door every minute. _Oh oh_, she thought, a feeling of panic now spreading in her stomach. _Too late to climb back on the roof_, her panicking mind told her. _But where else to go? _Her eyes flashed to her left and to her right side. _There was no place to hide!_

"Amanda," she heard Methos's very nervous-sounding voice whisper, "hide!"

_Yeah, what a good idea_, she thought sarcastically while her eyes still were searching for any possible escape.

The noise outside the door got louder. She heard the guard insert a code into the display. Although her attention was focussed on finding a place to hide, the still rational-thinking part of her mind told her that the guard was disabling the alarm system - only seconds, and he would enter. _Damn!_

Suddenly her eyes felt on a sarcophagus that was standing only a few meters away from her, leaned against the wall. Without hesitating any longer, she hurried to it while she simultaneously switched off the flashlight,… opened it – desperately hoping that there would be no mummy in it – and then got in. While she closed its lid, she could hear a low creak as the door of the gallery was opened. Her hands clenched tightly around the flashlight as she forced herself to breathe more slowly, fearing that else it would give her away.

She almost had managed to relax a bit when she finally remembered that she had forgotten the decoder; it was still hooked onto the display… _and the missing Death mask! Shit_! The guard only had to look at the still open showcase… _Damn, damn, damn!!!_

Through the thin walls of the sarcophagus, she could hear the guard enter the room, apparently checking if everything was all right. As the footsteps came closer to her hiding place, her knees became so weak that she feared for a moment that they would refuse to support her any longer. Blood began to roar in her ears, she almost got no air any longer.

The footsteps grew louder. Amanda shut her eyes…

Then, from one moment to the other, she heard the guard go back to the door again, closing it a few seconds later. Her ears told her that he apparently switched the alarm system on again. Then the footsteps got lower until they finally vanished.

A feeling of incredible relief exploded in her stomach while she let herself sack against the sarcophagus-side. "Oh God," she sighed, "I definitely need holidays – and that very urgently." She waited a few moments until she had recovered enough from the shock; then she finally left the sarcophagus and went to Methos – of course not without taking her decoder first.

About 10 minutes later, both climbed into the car they had parked outside the watcher HQ, the ladder already hidden in the back, the mask securely staffed into a bag. To leave the gallery and the grounds had not turned out to be big a problem: no alarm nor security had tried to hinder them.

Amanda watched Methos turn the key to start the car. "And now?" she asked while she relaxed on the seat beside him.

"Now we drive back to Strasbourg. Let's hope that Duncan is still in one piece."

**Morning, next day, Strasbourg**

Alexandre Lafiette sat several tables away from Joe Dawson, in front of him a big newspaper that completely hid his face, and watched the other very closely. Taking a sip of his hot and very delicious-tasting coffee, he noticed that Dawson looked a bit… nervous? As if he was waiting for something or someone. Lafiette got himself another croissant that he carefully spread with some jam before biting into it.

Suddenly a phone rang: it was Dawson's. Very curious, Lafiette bent a bit forward, hoping desperately that he would be able to overhear some parts of the conversation.

"Dawson," he heard the other watcher answer; then silence as Dawson listened to his conversion-partner. A few moments later, an expression of relief appeared on the watcher's face. "Thank God," Lafiette heard Dawson speak into the phone; then: "so you have it? And no…" To his great sorrow, Lafiette was not able to understand the rest of the sentence because Dawson turned his head to nod his thanks to a waitress that brought him a new cup of coffee.

Lafiette was just about to consider an unobtrusive way to get a bit closer, as Dawson suddenly turned his head back in his direction, saying, "… arrive here, Methos?…"

Hearing the last word, Lafiette swallowed his coffee the wrong way. He coughed for a few seconds; his eyes began to tear while he desperately tried to get some air into his burning lungs. _METHOS!!!_ he very excited repeated the magic words in his mind, grabbing with terribly trembling hands a serviette to clean his face. _Dawson really said it! Damn - HE REALLY HAS SAID IT!! _

He forced his hammering heart to beat a bit slower, fearing he else would suffer a heart attack right now. _Bastard, _he then thought while he once again focussed his narrowing eyes on the other watcher, on his face now a slightly angry expression. _He really has known it all the time, but never even gave the slightest hint…the bastard!! The tribunal will kill him for that – that means, if there's still enough left of Dawson after Zoll is through with him. _

Seeing that Dawson was making himself ready to leave, Lafiette took some money out of his coat and quickly placed it on the table before he hurried to follow Dawson. The other would meet Methos today - of that he was sure now – but definitely not without him! He would be there too, adhering to him like a limpet.

* * *

_Note: When I first planed the theft, I had a much more intelligent and complicated plan in my mind. But then I thought 'why not use a real one?'. So I checked the Internet for any description of a real theft: at the end, I chose the roof and the ladder (they come from different thefts, but both were successful). According to several descriptions of picture-thefts I found, are the most cameras really only used to record, not to watch in real-time. And many times the laser are also disabled._

_The idea with the belt and the pulley is from one of the episodes of Buffy._

_I hope that I also was able to characterize Amanda the right way, because this is my first fic in which she plays a bigger role (that means more than one sentence)._


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